


Always Take a Doggy Bag

by Dawnwind



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:26:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: Starsky is driving a hack until he starts the police academy. He picks up a fare, and destiny ensues.
Kudos: 16





	Always Take a Doggy Bag

Always take a Doggy Bag

As far as Starsky was concerned, forgotten doggy bags were fair game. Whatever a rider left in his cab was forfeit. Oh, he’d wait an hour usually, when he wasn’t starving for a burger and limp fries, in case the rider called dispatch to retrieve their forgotten lunch or dinner. But in all the months he’d been driving a hack, only one person had ever returned to retrieve their leftovers. Half a lobster tail. That one, Starsky was glad to be rid of. The taxi smelled like an aquarium for a week afterward.

It was kind of like a scavenger hunt, opening the bag or takeaway carton to discover what was for dinner. Chinese noodles and spicy prawns, gefilte fish, sole dripping in buttery sauce or a large portion of beef bourguignan, Starsky had sampled them all. And could honestly claim he’d eaten from some of the classiest joints in Bay City without paying a dime. Which was perfect for his overhead since driving a cab wasn’t a bad way to earn a living but there was barely enough to pay for rent and heat in his tiny apartment. Certainly nothing left to squander on dinner at Tavatore’s or Nuit en Paris.

That particular French bistro, which had three stars from Michelin, was up a block on the right. Starsky kept his eye on the front sidewalk from his vantage point waiting out the red light at the intersection. Nine times out of ten, there was a fare to or from the ritzy place. Currently, one of the rival blue Skyline cabs was idling as a woman climbed in. Starsky couldn’t see her clearly except for the sweep of her coat as she pulled the door shut.

Leaving a tall blond man standing alone, clutching a white bag with the Eiffel Tower sketched in red. The logo of _Nuit en Paris._

Bingo. Starsky was sure the woman must have ditched her date—leaving him with the tab. To be fair, he’d gotten the doggy bag—which possibly might be left in the commodious back seat of the cab, thus becoming Starsky’s property.

He slid the yellow car up to the pick-up zone with aplomb. The blond took a startled step backwards. The passenger side window was already down on such a warm evening, and Starsky leaned over the seat to address the man.

“Where can I take you?”

“Uh—“ The blond looked around vaguely as if seeking inspiration from the heavens before peering in at Starsky. “A hotel?”

An out of towner who didn’t even get accommodations before his rendezvous. Maybe he was loaded? Nice threads but nothing to write home about. Now his face—Starsky appreciated beauty in all forms—was perfection. Long patrician nose, wide, smooth forehead and blond hair like some actor in a movie.   
“Get in,” Starsky encouraged. “I get a lot of fares over at Bay City Hilton, if that’s what you’re after.”

The blond folded his lanky frame into the backseat, sitting for a long moment. Starsky was about to remind him to close the car door when he did so belatedly. 

He shrugged in utter defeat as if decision was beyond his capacity to cope. “Is there anything…cheaper… maybe near Dodger Stadium or Elysian Park?” he asked bleakly.

Sure, Starsky wanted to answer snidely, because that’s a low rent area. But the specifics of the location were too familiar. His heart sped up in time with the car. “What you got going on there?” He swiped the turn signal, took a left and drove down the wide street.

“My wife and I…” he waved a dismissive hand in the direction of _Nuit en Paris._ “Had an argument over our future.”

“That’s what all married couples fight about, pal,” Starsky commented. He’d driven a cab and worked behind a bar in the Italian restaurant his grandmother managed. A lot like being a sympathetic ear. Broken hearted people told him the same stories over and over— how they argued with their spouse and then they made up.

“Not sure we have one anymore,” the man went on sadly. “We don’t agree on some very basic issues. Not just money, but that’s the gist of it.” He sighed. “You married?”

“Nope.” Starsky wasn’t about to dredge up his whole past—shunted between New York and Bay City after his dad was murdered, and later, two years getting shot at in ‘Nam. Probably a good thing he’d never had a steady girl.

“Nancy wanted the glamorous life,” he said, sounding bitter. “She doesn’t respect my need to…help people. To make a difference.” 

The sign for Elysian Park appeared on the right and Starsky steered onto Academy Road. The wide, rolling hills of the park were peaceful in the dark. “There’s a motel just past Dodger,” he said, catching sight of the blinking green E of the Elysian Motel. 

“I won’t have my uniform…” the man faltered. “But that’ll have to do.”

Starsky parked the cab in the gravel just short of the familiar police academy gates. “You starting the police academy tomorrow, pal?” he asked, pivoting to look over the seat at his customer. 

The blond’s eyes widened. “How’d you know?”

“Me too. I wanna be a detective,” Starsky said with a grin. He had an idea. Possibly wildly naïve, but he had a gut feeling this was someone he could trust. “You need lodgings near the academy cause classes start in the morning, don’t have a uniform, and—“ 

“I had an argument about my future with my wife,” the man concluded with a hint of good humor. He nodded as if coming to a decision, too. “Ken Hutchinson,” he said, sticking out a hand.

“Dave Starsky.” Starsky grasped that hand, giving it a shake despite his awkward position. “I got a proposal.”

“I’m a married man, and we’ve only know each other fifteen minutes.”

“A wise guy, huh?” Starsky snickered, surprised how much he was warming to this guy in such a short time. It was a gamble, but he couldn’t ditch a fellow cadet the night before classes began. Besides, he did own a gun, brought home from the war. And was a crack shot. “I live six blocks away. It ain’t much. A studio, but I got a couch you can sack out on, and a spare uniform. Ma always told me t’buy two in case I tear the knee out of my pants.”

“A wise woman,” Hutchinson said, clearly mimicking Starsky’s use of the word. “That’s more than I could have ever expected. “ He sounded grateful. “Thanks. I can provide dinner.” He held up the doggy bag with a rueful expression.

“That there is the deal breaker.” Starsky licked his lips. “What did you order?”

“You’re in luck,” Hutchinson said. “Nancy had the waiter pack up both meals but then stormed out before picking up the bag. Linguini with clams and veal in cream sauce.”

Score! Starsky would have eaten either one. “Which is yours?”

“The veal.” Hutchinson opened the sack, removing two cartons. He passed one to Starsky, holding out plastic forks. _“Nuit en Paris_ provides everything.”

“I’ll remember that next time I go out for dinner.” Starsky inhaled the scent of the still warm pasta. Hints of garlic and the sea in the sauce. He took a bite. “It’s still warm!”

“The argument began in the cab on the way over and gained steam when we were waiting for the food,” Hutchinson said around a mouthful of veal. “She never took a bite, which isn’t that unusual. Nancy’s perpetually on a diet, and generally only eats a small portion. She doesn’t cook, so all we have in our fridge are leftovers from classy restaurants.” He frowned, staring at his meal. “Why am I saying all this?”

“That’s what people do.” Starsky chewed more linguini, wishing he could eat this for the rest of his life. “They get in the back of a cab and tell me stuff.”

“So tell me something.” Hutchinson put down his fork. “What made you decide to take me in?”

“You don’t look a thing like Little Orphan Annie,” Starsky quipped, not quite sure himself, except that it was the right thing to do. “Cause you wanna help people. That wasn’t my main reason for joining up—“ He took another bite of linguini and clams. “I saw the recruitment billboard and thought, why not? I know a guy, like a foster father to me, works in the BCPD…and I already know how to aim a gun. Seems natural, but you…” He examined the other man, handsome enough to be on that recruitment billboard, sincere and earnest, and wanted to be like him. To be there for him, as others had been for him whenever he’d lost his way in life. “You got whata-ya call it? Ideology?”

“Ideals?” Hutchinson laughed. “That’s one way of looking at it. My father thinks I’m a bleeding heart, but I feel like we need to take a stand, hold out our hands and pull each other up. Helping others isn’t a fault.”

“No it’s not.” Starsky raised his plastic fork and tapped it on Hutchinson’s. “We’ll be a swell team, you and me.”

“BCPD, here we come.” Hutchinson grinned for the first time that night.

FIN


End file.
